Baldur's Gate: Pathways
by Brandt Goetz
Summary: Saving Imoen, that would be the Easy part. Getting there, with seemingly every person in the realms needing her help and sending her off and runing every which way... There, there is where things got difficult! Please Read & Review!
1. Prologue

BALDUR'S GATE: PATHWAYS  
Prologue

**CLANG!**

"Are you **sure** you want to go on this way, Auric?" October Chill asked the stout dwarf as she followed him through the narrow opening vent of the mine shaft. The gouge in the rock had started off okay, but had narrowed to a very tight fit for the group within a hundred yards or so. Now, it was so confining that their shoulders were scraping the sharp bare stone with every step. '_Hell, Ironclad probably has to walk sideways by now._' October thought, imagining the sight of their huge colleague. He was now a couple of people away from her in the group, trying to negotiate the constricting passage.

The red haired woman turned her head slightly to see if she could make out her large friend's hulking form, but couldn't get him into her line of vision. She knew he was back there but couldn't turn her head far enough to flash him a smile, nor turn her body enough to get his attention that way. Besides, it was far too dark to see, anyway. Turning back to look onward at what little was visible through the passage; October Chill had just enough time to see the jutting spike of rock before she ran into it. The outcropping smacked her hard in the left side, just above the kidney, sending a bolt of pain through her and forcing a good bit of air from her lungs. The Wardancer knew that she hadn't suffered any damage, but figured that the stone might have torn a few links in the chainmail armor she wore - which would have to be fixed, of course, the next time they stopped to rest; a process that might take half the night. _'Oh this is __**SUCH**__ a bad idea!'_

"Just a wee bit more, methinks." Auric Maplebeard, the Dwarven leader of the group called back to her; his roughly hewn voice coming from about stomach high. "We've made it this far in good time, w'might as well get to the passageway leading down to the next level before stopping for a rest." The dwarf stroked his long golden beard as he spoke, though October, not having the benefit of infravision, couldn't see it in the dimly lit cave. "Be on yer guard though people, this places is burstin' w'beasties…as I hopes y'noticed."

'_And Auric claims that dwarves have no sense of humor._' October thought with a wry smile in the darkness, still rubbing her throbbing side through her armor. '_If we hadn't known about the 'beasties' down here we'd have been dead three levels ago. Course, if it wasn't for the problems the things are causing, we wouldn't be down in these stinking mines to begin with.'_

"No, really, Auric?" This sarcastic comment came from Chinga Tau, the group's resident sorceress, healer and cynic, as the elven woman picked her way carefully through the winding passage. Chinga Tau had no problem avoiding the outcropping of rock that had done the number on October's midsection, as she, like Auric, was endowed with the ability to see clearly in total darkness. The lovely, if often-times crotchety, elf could have probably danced a jig through the narrow tunnels without missing a step - not that she would have ever considered doing something so undignified. "I never would have guessed."

The mineshaft echoed with the dark, though good natured, laughter that came from behind the metal mask that covered the healer's face.

"Me either." The soft, slick addition was tacked on by the dark brown ferret, Shadow's Kin, who sat on Chinga Tau's left shoulder and curled comfortably around her neck with his tail nestled in her cleavage. The slinky, soft-furred animal took a grape that his mistress offered him and chewed on it, as content as any familiar could be with the juicy gift.

"I am all for the idea of stopping, or better yet, going back and finding another way through to the lower reaches." This voice came from near the end of the line of adventurers making their way through the darkened mineshaft and sounded echoing and hollow, as one might expect, coming from an iron golem as it did. "It is not easy to get through this passage," Ironclad went on resolutely. "And I fear that soon I will have to stop entirely, if the path does not widen. I will of course bow to your judgment, friend Auric."

'_He still sounds so melancholy._' October mused to herself. '_Though his following Auric's orders goes without saying._' The golem, Ironclad as he was now called, had been the creation of a mad wizard - now deceased - who had been paranoid about protecting his treasures. Maplebeard, along with a different group of Silverblades than the one he now commanded, had chanced upon the wizard's lair during an assignment and somehow managed to free the huge hulking creation from his slavery.

Neither of them had ever said just how this was accomplished but it was known that Ironclad had been of great value in defeating his former master and had since become fiercely loyal to the Dwarven fighter who had given him his freedom. '_I don't know what he'll do if this passageway gets too tight for him to get through, he lives to follow Auric._' Even as the thought came to her, the redhead had to twist sideways to get though a particularly narrow portion of the underground trail. The woman wondered how Ironclad, at almost nine feet tall, could ever hope to go on; the path being what it was. Several times she had heard the loud scrapings of rock clanging off the golem's metal hide but there was a limit to what even his limitless loyalty could force his gigantic frame through.

"Enough o' this now!" Maplebeard rasped, stepping over a large pile of broken rock. "We'll stop just up ahead here. I see a clearing where th' tunnel opens up some. Let's just get there and then see what w'can see." The dwarf hefted his battle axe and picked his way over the debris covered floor of the mineshaft, his eyes easily picking up the severed forearm that lay slightly to his right. A battle had taken place in this mine, and not to long ago if the torn limb was any indication. The blood and gore clinging to one end of the ripped appendage was still fresh and glistened, in his enhanced eyes, wetly...

"Stopping ahead does seem like a good idea." Calcutta Fate intoned, pulling his cloak tightly around his body and adjusting the hood. "It's freezing down here and I'm getting hungry." The man ran his fingers through his short beard, preening and twisting his head this way and that as he groomed. "Besides, we've been at this for hours. Better to stop for a bit and start again refreshed and with full stomachs."

October waited, smiling in the darkness, for the remark that she knew was coming. It didn't take long.

"You're **always** cold, prissy human, and if there has ever been a time when your belly was full I've never heard of it!" Grimloch Bane's growl was low, well low for an ork, but still piercing in the narrowness of the tunnel. "And you are saying you are tired as well? Perhaps you would like for me to carry you so you do not wear out your dainty feet, yes?"

"No thanks." The thief popped back. "I've just washed my leathers and would find it difficult to get the smell out again should you carry me." Calcutta chortled. "But I thank you for your concern over my well being just the same... Ox!"

"Oh, no problem at all." Grimloch replied, sounding even snider than Orcs do under normal circumstances. "I am, as always, merely concerned for you. Human meat is not as durable as the flesh of Orcs and your trembling whines worried me. I am pleased to hear that you are merely cold, as usual. I was thinking that perhaps you were frightened of being this deep underground and needed me to protect you; as your mother is not here!"

"Wish she was, barbarian." Calcutta answered brightly. "She'd wipe the floor with you, clear out the mess of things inhabiting this cave and get us to the nearest tavern to lift a few in short order. Mum would even be nice enough to carry you to your room after she drank you under the table, that's just the type of dame she is."

"I said enough!" Auric bellowed, stopping and half turning to glare at his group. "Remember you are Silverblades, and remember how we've had to fight to get this far! Get overconfident and y'might get dead!"

"Right boss." October answered, laughing slightly. She didn't blame Auric for wanting to maintain discipline but still wondered if he understood the futility of trying to shut Grimloch and Calcutta up once they were on a roll. The woman shook her head slightly at the very idea. The Orc barbarian and the human thief had been going back and forth for close to a decade of travel and adventures; and were thick as blood brothers, though neither would admit to it unless under torture. Simply ordering them to stop sniping at one another was nothing more than a way to get more air into the tunnel. "I hope you're right about that clearing being close though. You folks with infravision have no idea how annoying it is to travel in the dark like this after awhile."

"I…If you'd like, I can…uhm…do a Fairylight spell, October." Piper Blue called to her, his voice cracking with youthful exuberance.

"**NO!**" The five other members of the group, October Chill among them, ordered, as one; stopping the boy mid-stride in the magical gestures he was making to enact the spell.

"Oh, uhm, well…Okay." The teenager stammered and gave up on his ministrations. "Thanks for thinking about it though, uhm, Tobi."

'_The problem with men_,' October thought silently to herself. '_Is that they start out as boys._' She smiled, thinking of Piper Blue's fresh cheeked young features and knowing that she'd feel his eyes on her if they were in a better lit area - **Any** better lit area. '_Alright, he's way too young for you and has a lech for anything female in tight armor, but what do you expect at his age. Plus the attention is nice, and hells, he's a prince - more or less. It wouldn't hurt to let him cast a spell or two on my behalf_.' The Wardancer frowned slightly, considering the issue and deciding that, yes indeed, it might hurt after all. Piper Blue was the newest, not to mention greenest, member of the Silverblades; and while he tried hard and would go to any lengths to help the group, his spell casting ability was still haphazard at best. For about eleven of his fourteen years he had trained as a bard in his father's court and it was only in the last six months that he had taken to the training of a serious mage.

As a result, his spells were…inconsistent.

Sometimes that was a good thing - like the time they had been in battle and he had attempted to cast a Bless spell on the group to help them out…only to wind up sending Fireball at the dozen or so lycanthropes they had been facing.

Other times - the time Piper had wanted to wow the Silverblades by creating six ham sandwiches for them to eat and instead brought to life sixteen giant scorpions who wanted to eat them, came to mind - it could be a very bad thing indeed.

The kid tried hard and, most of the group agreed, would someday make an excellent wizard. Still, it would be dangerously tempting fate to allow him to cast an unnecessary spell in the close quarters they currently found themselves in.

"Tis like dealin' with children I tell ye'." Maplebeard muttered, loud enough for the others to hear. "Y'd think we were'a village class on a schooling exploration b'the sound o' things."

"Really…daddy?" Chinga Tau quipped, quite primly, and then chuckled behind her mask at the expression on the dwarf's face as he half swung around to look at her.

"Are we there yet?" Piper Blue added, much to Auric's displeasure.

"Yes. I need to tinkle. Can we stop soon?" The words, coming from Grimloch Bane's heavily fanged Orcen mouth brought a titter of unexpected laughter from October. She bit it off hard and pretended to cough.

"Enough, Blades." The redhead announced before Maplebeard could explode into a Dwarven rage. "We've had our fun now but Auric is right, these caverns are no laughing matter. Blowing off steam is fine but let's get serious again and stay alert. There could be more 'beasties' down here and it wouldn't do to get taken unawares." October listened to the inevitable grumbling but was pleased to see that the group saw her logic and quieted down. "And," She added, directing her comments at their leader. "It might not be a bad idea to stop soon regardless. Being overly tired could be as deadly as inattentive flippancy."

"Aye. Ye' be right at that." The dwarf grudgingly answered. "Stop then we will. Methinks I sees an opening just up ahead there where these infernal tunnels open up some. Be as good a place as any to sit a spell."

"Isn't it getting a wee bit lighter as well, don't you think?" Calcutta Fate asked, looking left to right. "Seems like it somehow." The group continued on a dozen or more steps while no one saw fit to reply. "It's definitely lighter." The thief went on. "Though the light seems bluish."

The Silverblades walked on, picking their way through the passageway warily as it opened up into a fair sized room. The place was unremarkable, plain rock walls, ceiling and floor of the same stone and mineral composites as the rest of the mineshafts they had encountered. What made this hollow different was that it had clearly been tunneled out from the existing cavern rather than formed as a natural offshoot of it.

There was also the small mater of the gently glowing archway that stood directly in the middle of the passage.

"This be somethin' new." Auric muttered walking around the archway and giving the archway a close looking over. The thing was about three meters high, the top of it still a comfortable foot or two from the roof of the cavern, and maybe a meter thick. It was composed of jagged looking bits of blue and green stone that glistened and gleamed with a soft inner light. The most amazing thing about it was that, although the center of it was open and looked empty; when Auric walked around it to stand at the other side, he looked distorted and vague as though he was being seen from the other side of a clear but rapid waterfall.

The dwarf squatted down on his haunches and pushed the butt of his battle axe through the opening. Instantly the heavy solid wood began to bend; not like wood but more like melting taffy over a strong fire. Maplebeard pulled his chopper back without pause and inspected the hilt for damage. Finding none, he scowled.

"Curiouser and curiouser." Chinga Tau murmured.

The others stood around watching the archway. To a person they had never seen anything like it before, and between them they had traveled most of Lancadia at one time or another.

"I don't sense any magiks at work here." Piper Blue said, taking a step forward and peering into the odd opening. "It looks kind of like a doorway." The boy poked his wand into the liquidy looking yet empty center and watched as it warped and bent in the same way Auric's axe handle had. "Or, maybe a gateway?"

"Aye." Was Maplebeard's only reply as he watched the young prince remove his wand from the swirl.

"But to where?" This from Ironclad.

"These stones appear to be individual pieces." Calcutta Fate remarked, stepping up and slipping his dagger under the edge of one of the jutting stones. "I believe I could pull one out and -"

"Touch nothing Calcutta!" October began, as a ghastly shriek filled the cavern! The Wardancer started to draw her sword when the entire tunnel filled to capacity with a blinding light that struck the group of Silverblades with the force of a dragon - with gas! The light seemed to have physical power behind it and it hit them all head on and unprepared.

October Chill, member of The Society Of The Silverblades, Wardancer from the city of Trazlour on the continent of Lancadia; never got to complete her sentence. Her world first went gray; then went away entirely.


	2. Pathways  Chapter 1: Lady In A Cage

**BALDUR'S GATE: PATHWAYS**

Chapter One: Lady In A Cage

Consciousness returned. Consciousness…and pain. It was bad this time, very bad in some places; but she couldn't complain. Even if her throat had been working correctly, her lips and tongue not parched, she still probably wouldn't have complained.

At least this time she hadn't woken up shrieking in agony!

'_Take some comfort in that… kid._' Her thoughts broke when she realized that she couldn't recall her name, and she struggled mightily to clear her head as she knelt there in her cage. 'You're not being ripped to pieces this time. He's not here.'

'_He who?_' Another part of her mind questioned.

Wearily she lifted her head, dismayed at the way her neck and shoulders protested the act, and looked around her prison with the hope that something would come back.

Nothing.

She was…where she always was. Encaged. The light, what light there was, was dim at best and it was hard to see more than a few feet in any direction. She could see a cage across a metallic walkway, a cage like her own she supposed; and it was possible to make out a few of the implements hanging from the pipes and iron rafters of the place. It looked like a cross between a healer's center and a dungeon.

It came to her then, as it did every time she'd awoken with even half the capability of rational thought, to wonder if this whole experience could have been something stemming from her refusal to sign on for the Candlekeep Medical Program. She decided, as always, that it probably was not; and it would have amused the young women to find that she had ever had these thoughts before. Simply speaking, her short term memory had been all but short circuited, and each time she woke, it was nearly like the first time.

'_No.'_ The blonde woman corrected herself. '_**NOT**__ like the first time. Nothing like the first time_.'

The pain!

The agony!

The terror!

No, the first time had been something a level above any type of physical torture she'd ever experienced. As she remembered, it had been – quite possibly – the first time she had ever truly screamed! He had been there then. Him. Watching over her like a doctor over a patient, like a man in love watching over his mortally ill wife……like a spider watching a particularly tasty looking morsel that had just had the bad luck to happen into it's web. He was always there with her though the pain, causing the pain but studying it disconnectedly, dispassionately; and encouraging her to do the same. She had never seen his face, or if she had, she couldn't remember it.

But she remembered his eyes.

_His eyes_.

_His eyes__._

His eyes through the mask!

That was the most horrible part among a series of horrible parts; of abominations that nothing living should have had to endure! 

_His eyes…_

The mask was golden, but not gold; more like a finely polished copper with gold highlights or perhaps some other more exotic metal that reflected the dim light of the place... but the overall impression was gold. He watched her as he tortured her, sometimes talking, sometimes utterly engrossed in his work as though he were a sculptor and her body was his medium of choice to work with. She watched him too, when the pain wasn't blinding and would allow it; watched him watching her as he tore her apart. She could tell nothing of his face…the mask…but she could see his eyes.

_**HIS EYES!**_

The woman shuddered, then trembled, then fell to the floor of her cage and curled into a fetal position as though hoping for the safety of the womb.

Impressions came to her then, again as always. Not memories really, just shadowy glimpses of a life she knew to be her own. She was young still, not like him, and she knew instinctively that she had led a life of adventure and violence. She had not caused the violence – directly, she knew that too. Rather the violence tended to follow her; to find her as though it was a part of her birthright... which in a way it was.

She was a child of Bhaal! A blood offspring of the God Of Murder! As the first concrete memory returned to the young woman it oddly brought her a feeling of strength instead of the usual disgust she felt over the knowledge. A child of Bhaal. Hideous, disgusting and sickening to have such bloodlust inside of her, such a passion for murder and degradation pent up and held back by little more than her own strong will. Yet at the same time, it gave her strength, made her more than other humans, and she suspected it gave her greater ability to withstand the torment that had been inflicted upon her for the last…

How long? How long had it been? How long had she been here? Time didn't feel real to her, didn't feel as if it had the right…flow. It had been weeks, she was nearly sure of that, but precisely how many remained a fleeting shadow in her mind. Time ran together here, wherever _here_ was. It was hard to remember anything, anything other than….

'_The pain!_' She thought, feverently.

_**His eyes!**_

The agony of her torn, burned, broken body. Her body that had been dissected while she was still conscious and aware then healed so'as to begin the process anew.

_**His Eyes!**_

"The pain." She didn't realize that she was mouthing the words out loud, in nothing more than a harsh whisper, but still out loud. "The pain. Being sliced up. Burned. Crushed." The woman's cracked lips fluttered, forming the words as if in prayer, a prayer to remember the agony; to concentrate on the physical violation of her body.

_**HIS EYES THROUGH THE MASK**_

She shuddered, screaming out loud in a horse, high pitched keening that sounded only remotely human.

Remotely human…like his eyes!

Her life had been one of violence, of loss. Her enemies, and at times there were many, had wanted to kill her out of hate, or fear, or just because she stood in the way of their plans. She remembered Gorion then. Gorion, it was little more than a name now, but she knew that at one time it had been important to her. That had been before the pain. Gorion had been her foster father, the only family she'd ever known. He had been murdered by… What was the name? It came to her – Sarevok!

Sarevok, her brother…brother of Bhaal…had killed Gorion, and she in turn had killed Sarevok along with his minions. There had been reason for her "brother's" death, beside the fact that he had slaughtered someone she had loved. He'd wanted to bring back Bhaal, to become the new God of Murder, and Gorion's death notwithstanding, she couldn't have allowed that to happen. She was no Paladin, the curse of the blood in her veins saw to that, but she tried to be as honorable as she could. Never a zealot, but with a clearly defined sense of right and wrong, she had strayed near to the edge of becoming something dark, darker than she was born to be, but had always worked as a force for the good of all in the end.

Sarevok had wanted her dead because he figured, correctly as it turned out, that she would be an impediment in his plans for Godhood and the wholesale murder of the realms. He had known that they were two sides of the same coin and that although he had chosen to embrace his legacy of blood she had rejected hers; and in doing so would clearly be the greatest threat to the dream of his rule. To him, that made her a traitor in blood; worse yet, a danger, and so he had decreed that she would be laid to rest. That the proclamation had been a little premature and it had instead been Sarevok himself to go into that long sleep first was immaterial; the bottom line was that he had wanted to kill her for personal gain. To ensure his place on the throne he'd decided to erect.

The woman in the cage could understand that, and deal with it. There was nothing personal about the battles that she had fought against her brother, only what amounted to a difference in opinion that had resulted in an unpleasant death for one of them. Just something that had to be done.

Wasn't it?

She twisted her head from side to side, further dirtying her already filthy, matted blonde hair in the muck, blood and other bodily fluids that pooled on the floor of her cage. Her eyes were closed and her torn lips white. She was in the stage of awareness somewhere between consciousness and sleep, though Full rest cruelly evaded her.

She had killed Sarevok, yes, but was it merely to stop him from carrying out his evil plan of rising to Godhood? He had killed Gorion, her mentor, her teacher, her father and friend. She in turn had made him her personal little war. The fact that he had sent people to kill her had been beside the point; she could have run away if she had truly needed to. It might not have been easy, but by no means was it impossible. She hadn't run though, she had tracked the bastard down, going through his followers and their lieutenants to get to him and leaving a bloody trail of corpses in her wake. She had fought her way through every assassin, demon and creature he had thrown at her and in the end killed him cleanly with his own sword – and what's more, she had enjoyed doing it.

Was that a normal reaction, enjoyment, to spilling his blood? Even after his killing of Gorion and so many others, were her feelings toward the act of ending his life "normal", or was the pleasure she felt inside her a direct result of the taint of Bhaal that filled her veins? Not being "_quite_" human the woman knew that she could never answer that question in a way that would completely satisfy her and in the end concluded that it didn't matter. Sarevok had needed killing and she had seen to that need. If she did it out of a sense of morality or revenge, it didn't trouble her much. It was simply the right thing to have done. She could deal with it.

_**HIS EYES!**_

The man in the gold mask though… He was something entirely different!

She had killed many times in her young life, in defense of it and in order to save the lives of others. Sometimes she had killed coldly and sometimes she had killed with the thirst for vengeance strong in her soul. Of those whom she killed, most had been trying their best to kill her. She had killed dragons and other creatures that had wanted to make her their dinner, or who had attacked her out of their own propensity for violence. They'd had their reasons and she'd had hers.

The man in the mask…

She had studied him at length, when she had the capacity, and it wasn't the torments that he'd put her body through that made her terrified of him. It wasn't the things he said, though often they were horrible. It was his eyes.

In every instance in her life where deadly violence had been conducted there had always been some underlying reason for it coming from the person doing it. That reason may have been to satisfy the greed for gold that her death would have brought, or for the simple, twisted, delight of inflicting pain. There had even been one time when she had very nearly been raped – by a man who could easily have gotten any women he wanted through his good looks or his wallet, but to whom the act of forcing and degrading his struggling partner was the only way to satisfy his cravings. She had killed him of course, but she could – if not endorse – then at least comprehend the desire he had inside of him that drew him to do such a thing. The woman had seen it all in her time on the road. Or so she had thought.

Things were coming back now.

The man in the mask… In _**HIS**_eyes she saw nothing.

He had tortured her, had inflicted agonies upon her time and again. He had ripped her open, had torn her apart in a methodical step by step way that had made her scream for release and pray for death. He had subjected her to violations of the body that defied her ability to explain, had made her suffer in ways that she – good person though she tried to be – would have willingly, even happily, killed a dear friend to escape from. He had used strange magic on her then, magic that she had never seen before and could hardly believe even existed. He had used the strange magic to take her apart; piece by piece, cell by cell, neuron by neuron in an exploration that was more intimate than the most sensual encounter she'd ever had - and more painful and degrading than the most invasive healing procedure that she had ever been subjected to.

That was bad, but the worst part, the truly _hideous_ part, was the casual, almost detached way that he carried out the assaults against her. She could see his eyes, and they told her that he bore her no malice, had no hatred for her at all. He wasn't desecrating her body out of anger, hate or spite; wasn't even doing it to get some weird kind of sexual jollies. He didn't consider her to be an enemy. In fact, from the blank, almost dead look in his eyes, she would venture that he didn't consider her at all! She wasn't human to him; didn't even rate as high as a lab animal. The fact that she was a living breathing creature was completely lost on him. Even on those occasions that he spoke to her, his voice had an oddly abstract quality, as if he were talking to himself about her rather than to her.

The eyes said it all, and if eyes were mirrors into the soul, this set had been stained black years, perhaps decades before.

He projected nothing, not even when he was inflicting the worst of the tortures on her. He worked at a continual pace, neither fast nor slow, and showed no sign of pleasure or disgust at the sight of her laid open and bare before him. Sometimes it was almost as if he were searching for something and believed it to be hidden someplace inside of her. Other times he seemed more interested in testing her endurance to pain and damage; he'd made it clear though that that information only held appeal to him as a passing bit of knowledge – interesting but really not important in the whole. He didn't enjoy her suffering, not like some of her past enemies, but neither did it bother him. He worked without anger, joy or sorrow and with the steady complacency of a well tooled machine. He asked her no questions; the tortures weren't to get information from her…in the usual sense anyway. He made no demands upon her either. He never tried to suggest a deal, a way for her to appease him and make the torment stop... and if her humanity didn't hold any interest for him, her inhumanity mattered even less.

He knew she was a Bhaalspawn, and that alone seemed to hold his attention; and not out of any desire to resurrect her less than divine birthright in the way that she had been of interest to Sarevok. He wasn't concerned with Bhaal himself per se', but rather that portion of Bhaal within her. At least that was the general impression she'd gotten, and admittedly it was difficult to think straight and reason while being awake at what amounted to your own autopsy.

She opened her eyes – Big Mistake… It felt like two pikes were being driven into her skull. Even the dim light hurt. Grunting with the effort the woman pulled herself up to a standing position, using the bars of her cage to support most of her weight as she did so...

"_Just need to think. Need to concentrate_." Her voice was little more than a whisper, but her mind was coming back on line. The bars of her cage were iron, or better, and she didn't bother trying to bend them anymore. While she recalled being halfway proficient with a sword, her talents lay in other areas, as a golem trainer's should. The young Bhaalspawn shook her head, trying to clear it enough to summon a golem or two that could make short work of the bars.

Then she heard a door open…and froze.

He came out of the darkness as though gliding instead of walking and moving with a grace that belied much humanity. Stopping in front of her cage he regarded her for a moment, silently. As usual.

"So..." The masked figure finally said, no inflection other than arrogance in his voice. The child of Bhaal has awoken." He paused, studying her, the feel of his eyes made the woman's skin crawl. "It is time for more…experiments." He began to make gestures with his hands, gestures that the blonde woman knew well but couldn't quite track through her already blurred vision. She braced herself against the bars and prepared for the pain she knew was coming.

Being ready for pain and being able to stand it were two entirely different things though and within two seconds she had fallen to the floor of her cage, shrieking in agony as flames engulfed her and ate at her skin. It was worse than regular fire, this fire lashed at her in scalding waves and felt like it was searing her soul itself. She clung to her bars, her knuckles white behind the magical flames. She clung to her sanity, retreating into her mind, searching for someplace the pain couldn't reach.

"Interesting. You have much untapped power." His voice brought her back from beyond.

More gestures then, more agony. More screaming. Then blessed blackness for a time. She was not unconscious, fate having chosen not to be so kind to her, but rather in that shadowy place between dreams and the world.

"Do you even realize the power you possess?" The man shape wondered out loud and began a series of very intricate gestures before her half closed, horrified eyes.

"No more. Please." She whispered through charred vocal cords, vocal cords that had been seared almost black but were miraculously already well on their way to being fully healed. There was a part of her that was ashamed, disgusted with herself for begging, groveling like an animal; but that part was far away now. It had been closer to the surface inside of her weeks ago when her torment at his hands had barely begun, now it was merely an unpleasant gremlin sitting in the furthest reaches of her mind. The pain, the constant agony, had seen to that.

"More intruders have entered the complex, Master." The hollow voice reached her ears about the same time it reached her captors, and he ceased his spell casting to her relief. She made herself look up through the limp links of her hair at the messenger who had given pause to her torment. Seeing that it was a golem her heart began to race and her spirits began to pick up.

'_Concentrate. Concentrate._' The woman thought wildly. '_Maybe you're too weak to summon any of your own golems, but I'm betting you have the power to charm this one._' She smiled as her skin began to cool. '_Charm him… have him grab that wizard by the ankles…turn the bastard over…then I'll just make a wish, and…_' 

"They act sooner than we had anticipated." The man shape behind the mask spoke, and the mere sound of his voice made her concentration dissolve. The woman cursed herself silently. Hating her own weakness. "No matter, they will only prove a slight delay." The gestures the wizard made now were different and not directed, for once, at her. There was a light, brighter than the brightest torch, that made her shield her eyes. The air seemed to shimmer…and then, without looking, she knew he was gone.

"Now to get out of here." The woman whispered to herself after allowing a couple of minutes to pass, to be sure he wasn't coming back. She looked up through the bars of her cage, anxious to see the golem that would be her salvation.

The golem was gone too.

"Or not…" She murmured, slumping back on her haunches and letting her forehead rest against thee cool bars of the cage door. She frowned, knowing that she would never be strong enough to break free of the cage on her own and was still feeling too disoriented to summon any help. She hoped the cobwebs would clear soon. Being imprisoned and tortured was bad, being imprisoned and left to starve after her torturer had left for parts unknown was, arguably, worse. She didn't know why she sensed that the man shape in the mask would not be returning, but she did. She felt it rather strongly in fact and rested as she considered her somewhat limited options.

She dozed – that shadowy nowhere place again – sensing but not registering the explosions taking place around her. The men coming in, the men dying. 

Explosions.

Screams.

Utter blackness.

Then…

"Wake up, you! Wake up! Come on, we have to get out of here!" A voice…but not** HIS** voice. A voice that sounded scared, and almost as weary as she felt. Reluctantly she opened her eyes again, they seemed so heavy she could hardly find the strength, but open them she did and when her vision cleared… A face, out of the darkness, from the shadows… A kind face, kind, open… maybe a little childlike though the person wearing it was no child.

Strange hair… Oddly pink… Things were coming back to her now. The day the girl had come to her, raving about the new "_Happy Dragon_" hair coloring she'd bought at market, and the expression on her friend's face when she proclaimed that "Dragon's Bladder" was probably a more apt description of the shade. … Scars over her eye… That was new. Looked to be healing though… She knew this girl, knew her well. If only her head would clear and stop hurting.

"Whaaa?" She finally managed to push from her throat – as a name came to her. "I…Im…Imoen?"

"Yeah Darkling, it's me." The pink haired girl whispered softly while stepping up closer to the cage that held her friend and peering down at the lock cryptically. "We need to get you out of here."

"Don't call me Darkling." The woman in the cage answered, sounding as though she said those words by route; which in fact, she had. "My name's…" Another name returned to the blonde, and she was glad to have it back. "…Darkmoon. Imoen, is it really you?" The woman, Darkmoon, lifted herself to one knee, then pulled herself upright by using the bars of her cage as leverage. She winced at the cracking sounds of her bones.

"Right Darkling, whatever." The young thief went on. "And yes, its really me." She was clearly only listening with half an ear as she concentrated on the lock to the older girl's cage. She poked at it with a small metal pick, frowning at the result. "We've got to get out of here. Some kind of major battle is going on. A bunch of mercenaries or something are having it out with the…things…that our "host" keeps down here in this playpen of his." The young woman, little more than a teenaged girl really, applied another lock pick to the door of the cage. Her frown deepened. "They're really tearing each other apart right now, and I'm not sure who's winning, but…" Her words trailed off and she bent at her task, a strange metal item in each hand now, working diligently at the stubborn lock. "…I don't know who's winning, and normally I'd say that anyone fighting that guy who grabbed us and his buddies would have a friend in me for life…but… The guys doing the attacking down here don't look all that friendly either." The girl bent to her task again, peering into the lock and twisting at the thing ineffectually. "_Real_ not friendly, if you get me. My guess is that they are all busy with one another right now but once they get done, whichever side comes out on top might just set their attention on whoever's left – like us."

"But how -" Darkmoon began, as Imoen glared down at the lock holding the cage closed.

"He had me locked up just like you." The pink haired girl said, anticipating the question. "My cell got torn open during the fighting and I went wandering." Now Imoen looked at the lock with open hate, a strange expression to be found on her young face. "Found my way here, found you and here we are. What we need to do is find ourselves some extra hands and get out of this pit!" The girl frowned again, then brightened. "Speaking of helping hands..." Imoen's voice trailed off and she began doing wizardy things with her hands. The sight of the gestures made Darkmoon cringe, old horrors to close to the surface coming back with a vengeance. Imoen chanted, Darkmoon, cowering on the floor of her cage, watched with frightened eyes. She again felt a wave of self loathing for her current weakness but couldn't fight it.

A huge disembodied arm, bright blue, translucent and glowing with magical energy appeared in the sky to Imoen's right; and when the young thief thrust out her own hand, the magical arm followed suit. Imoen gestured, making a fist; and the magical arm reached out and grabbed the lock holding the door to Darkmoon's cell closed. The pink haired girl twisted her fist and pulled back sharply – the magical arm mimicked her every move.

If Imoen's intention had been to break the lock off the cage; she failed miserably.

The arm, obviously a powerful magic conjure ripped the entire door away completely – lock and all. Then it gave it's creator a thumbs-up, received a nod in reply, and vanished.

"I'm getting really good with my magic." Imoen explained as she reached into the cage and pulled her friend up by the shoulders. "I found a bunch of scrolls in a box on my way here and scribed a few into my spell book. They're pretty exotic and hard to get right, but when they work…" A smug grin appeared on the pink haired teen's face. "I'm tempted to become a sorceress actually." The girl giggled, a nervous, tweedy, high pitched kind of laugh; and then sobered abruptly. "After we get out of here." She all but dragged Darkmoon out of her cage and wrapped the older girl's arm around her own shoulders to better absorb her weight. "He really messed you up some, Darkling, but it's all right now. There's a room nearby with some swords and things…" her voice trailed off. "All of our own stuff is gone I think. He probably sold it, but there's some stuff there we can use. We'll have to make due I guess, until we can buy more. Can you walk?"

'_Good question_.' Darkmoon put weight on her legs and groaned, shuddering all over from the pain. Both women looked down and were disgusted by the sight of the blonde's limbs. She looked broken up…burned. Even as they watched the legs were healing – but it would be some time yet before Darkmoon would be able to walk. "Uhm…"

"Alright." Imoen huffed, hefting her injured friend. "I'll carry you for awhile I guess."

"N…No Imoen." Darkmoon gasped, struggling from her friend's arms and sinking to the stone floor in a pain wracked ball. "Leave me, I'm to far gone." The blonde slumped, all but unconscious.

Imoen, for her part, watched in amazement. Leaving her oldest friend never entered the young thief's mind, but to see Darkmoon like this… The pair of them had been through much together and she had never seen the slightly older women in the state she was in now. Whatever the wizard had done to her must have been terrible, even more extreme that the violations she'd suffered herself. Imoen shuddered at the thought of that. She regarded her friend. Carrying Darkmoon, while not quite out of the question, would be a hassle at best. The pink haired girl looked around, perhaps there was another way.

"You just wait here, Darkling." Imoen told her friend. "I might have an idea." Retracing her steps the younger girl ventured back into the depths of their captor's playpen. She quickly came to a room she'd visited earlier. It was small to the point of being cramped and inhabited by a lone golem on sentry duty. When the thief had come through the room the first time, the hulking stone figure had given her a scare. Fortunately she'd quickly found that the creature had been constructed merely as a guard and not as an enforcer per se'. After telling her to return to her cell it had made no other hostile move. It couldn't, not being programmed for such, and never would. Nevertheless, Imoen watched the creature warily as she did a quick once over of the room. The small knife she took for herself, as well an oddly shaped key and a short sword for Darkmoon. It was behind a picture frame she found what she was really looking for, a vial of healing potion. -That's the ticket! - She returned to Darkmoon, finding the blonde slumped where she'd been left, uncapped the bottle and poured the foaming liquid down her friend's slack gullet with only a little problem; then stood back to watch.

The potion's action wasn't immediate but it was effective. As Imoen watched the horrible broken lumps in Darkmoon's legs began to smooth out, the charred flesh peeled and dropped off, revealing new – if bright pink and healing – skin underneath. The older woman regained some of her color and came back to full consciousness. She looked up at Imoen gratefully. It was obvious she was still hurting, but now at least she looked like she'd make it.

Physically anyway. In her blue eyes Imoen saw something that she'd never seen before and didn't like.

"Im…Imoen…"Darkmoon said softly after a very long time. She hung her head, sitting in the doorway of what had been her cage with tears dripping onto the floor. "About before, I…"

"Forget it." The thief said with almost equal weariness. "I was put through the mill too." But not as bad as you. He must have really messed you up bad. "Here, take this." Imoen handed her companion the sword. "It's not the best but it'll have to do. I think I heard Jaheira, Minsc and Dynaheir earlier. I think they are nearby. Let's get them and get out of here."

"Y…Yeah." Darkmoon got unsteadily to her feet, wincing at the pain of her new flesh that was still the hot pink of a bad sunburn. She hefted the sword Imoen had given her, and though she was not one to care much for close and personal fighting, the weight of the sturdy weapon in her hand helped to give her back some confidence. "Let's find our friends and get out of….Ohhhhhh……." She'd begun to stand and now sat back down with a hard thud.

"You okay?" Imoen asked, looking around nervously.

"Yeah. My head feels like a heard of orcs have been tap-dancing on it, but yeah. Bracing herself, ready now, Darkmoon stood again and took an exploratory step. Vertigo gripped her but now that she was prepared it wasn't as bad as before. "Let's find the others."

Darkmoon and Imoen had barely taken a step away from the cage that had been her prison when the air before them began to shimmer and glow with the familiar appearance of a Transport spell. Both young women made ready with their weapons, frightened and dreading the thought of the wizard returning, yet determined to die before being made his prisoners once more. The pink haired girl noticed that her older friend was trembling, clearly terrified and trying hard not to show it. Seeing Darkmoon that way scared and angered her. They had been through a lot together, the two of them, and she had never before known the older girl to shake with fear.

_He must have really messed you up __**bad**_ The thief had already decided that she wouldn't be taken alive; the pain in her head and the odd feeling of loss inside her guaranteed that, but seeing her lifelong friend, the girl she patterned herself after and tried to be like, reduced to mindless shaking terror clenched it for her. _I might die this day,_ she thought grimly, tightening her fingers around the hilt of her knife with dark resolve. _But if I do then you're going to get to know new levels of pain. We'll teach you not to screw with people from Candlekeep!_

Darkmoon's own thoughts, had she shared them, would have been less…eloquent…than her companion's, but far more direct.

The figure that materialized in front of them however wasn't the sorcerer that had been tormenting them the last few weeks; in fact, the man who now appeared couldn't have been farther from that hated shape if he'd have shown up naked. Even in their current 'ridden hard and put away wet' state of mind, neither girl could help but crack a small smile at the man who appeared.

This didn't mean, of course, that either of the young women would hesitate for an instant in dispatching him to a higher plain if he made even the smallest of hostile gestures.

His appearance did inspire them to let go of a little of the tension they felt however. The stranger was a rather short, rather plump and rather jovial looking man wearing a fine set of blue satin breeches, matching coat with tails and a light pink ruffled top. Add to this flowing blonde-auburn hair, an equally flowing handlebar moustache, a charming light oak walking stick and some type of lizard perched on his left shoulder and the overall effect was the appearance of a friendly, if perhaps pleasantly mad little gnome. He might well have had a bit of gnome in his bloodline somewhere for his eyes twinkled merrily as he appraised the women.

Darkmoon opened her mouth, still taking the sight of the man in.

"**HO THERE!**" The newcomer said with an easy smile, beating the woman to the initial greeting. "Blue, the demigoddess of immortal bards, told me you could use a little assistance in here!" The man's bright eyes twinkled even more and he used one of them to wink at Imoen, making the thief's own eyebrows raise in surprise. "So," The jaunty man went on. "I took a break from destroying the denizens of the Hells and reckless, wayward plane-hopping to drop in and see if I could lend a hand." He bowed deeply at the waste, not perturbed at all by the sight of them holding their weapons at the ready. The lizard on his shoulder even appeared to smile slightly. "I'm Jasper St. Baird, Mistress Blue's favorite love slave." The little man took three great steps forward, grasped Imoen's hand and placed a dainty kiss along her scared knuckles, blowing on them with warm breath.

The blonde closed her mouth with an audible click of teeth.

"Eep!" The pink haired girl squeaked in surprise and jerked her hand back, shaking it slightly. The kiss didn't appear to be a come on, if anything it felt like something she'd once received from an elderly stable hand back in Candlekeep, but it did give her an odd sensation. Imoen looked down at her hand and gasped. Her knuckles, scared and raw where the little man had pressed his lips, were healing now – rapidly. In seconds, faster than the fastest healing potion she'd ever heard of, her hand was like new.

"And I am at your service." Jasper turned his attentions to Darkmoon, made forward as if to embrace her…then decided restraint was the better part of chivalry when he got a good look at the expression still in her eyes.

"Okay, Goldilocks," Darkmoon said, more heat in her voice than she would have liked. She wanted to trust again, she really did; but recent horrors… recent violations…were still too fresh and close to the surface in her mind. Still, with conscious effort, she softened her tone a bit. "What can you do for me?"

"Why, get you out of here, of course." Jasper replied, not put off in the slightest by Darkmoon's less than polite tone and perhaps having some understanding of the type of hell she had been through. "Unless you'd rather scramble for leather scraps of armor and a few twigs for weapons, doing battle with vicious mephits and goblins?" Jasper paused for a moment, letting the two women consider it while he reached into his pocket and came out with a cookie for his lizard. "I can take you to the exit of this place, and, what's more, I know there are things here that you'll be needing and I'll be happy to grab it for you." The dapper little man glanced away, watching his lizard happily munch the cookie. "After all, considering this Irenicus guy locked you up, tortured you, and killed your friends, I think the least he can do for compensation is offer up his valuables free-of-charge."

'_Irenicus – Is that the name of the man shape who imprisoned us? The one responsible for all of this? It has to be!'_ Darkmoon frowned. '_This guy knows a lot more than he's letting on. Did he say my friends have been killed? Gods! That can't be right; it just can't…not after all we've been through!'_ The blonde golem trainer regarded the plump little man in front of her. He looked harmless enough, hells, he looked two thirds tanked on some truly fine Thay firewine, but she more than most knew the dangers of judging a person by their appearance alone.

Imoen, meanwhile, was having similar, if kinder thoughts about Jasper. When he announced that some of their original party had been killed she bit her lip and glanced worriedly around. She already knew that one of the group was dead, a fact she hadn't shared with her friend, but to think that the others might be gone too. The thief didn't think St. Baird, the bard, apparently, by the look of him, was trouble; he seemed to open and friendly to be any good at subterfuge. He had the delightful jolliness of a man at peace with the entire world and his own place in it, the air of a man who'd seen it all and enjoyed most of it. No, she didn't think Jasper was a threat, but like Darkmoon, she was sure he knew a heck of a lot more than he was letting on.

What both women were thinking, what they had not said aloud was: _Can we __**trust**__ this guy_?

"Now wait a minute," Darkmoon found her voice. "This…Irenicus…did you say? He is, by all accounts," The blonde shuddered. "A powerful and probably mad wizard! What makes you think you can just slip us all right from under his nose, **AND** take all his stuff, too?" 'And if indeed you **CAN**, somehow, where were you weeks ago when he was shoving fire lances up my…' The bard let herself shy away from those embarrassing, not to mention painful, memories.

"It's…complicated." St. Baird answered – cryptically. "The short version is this. For all of Irenicus' mad power, he is still but a humble collection of actions and reactions before the might of the Great God Ifthen, the Lord of Faerun…and surrounding areas." The little man gazed out, as though looking at something far far away, then cleared his throat noisily. "No matter how many days, weeks, months, eons you spend in this dungeon, Irenicus will never come back down here. He also has better things to do with his time than track you down for stealing his scimitar and eight-point healing potions."

"How do you know so much about everything?" Imoen sounded accusing.

"That's one of the '_complicated'_ parts, lovey." The gnomish bard replied, then smiled beatifically, telling all the world that, on that subject at least, he would say no more.

The thief sighed.

"Wonderful." Darkmoon told the man – dryly. "Can you wait here a minute, I gotta take a wizz." 

Imoen blinked, then felt her her eyes go huge. In their time together she had heard Darkmoon call for a lot of toilet breaks on the road, but the phrase '_take a wizz_' was more than a little out of character. "Come on Immy, come with me, we can do it together." Her older friend said to her, turning.

"I, uhm… I'll wait here." Imoen felt her face going as pink as her hair and was visibly embarrassed to be seen discussing dropping her breeches for nature's duty in front of a stranger; even one as benign looking as St. Baird. "I don't have to, uhm, go!"

"**Yes!**" Darkmoon told her forcefully, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around until the two of them were walking away from the unassuming bard. "**You do!**"

"Fine, fine!" Jasper called after them as they disappeared back into the shadows of the dungeon. "But do make it quick if you can - Mistress Blue hates it when I'm late for her scented bubble baths."

"So what's up?" Imoen whispered when they were well out of the bard's earshot. She'd caught on that her friend didn't really need to pee.

"Just this. I _think_ that guy back there can help us, but I still don't know if I trust him or not." Darkmoon explained briefly. "I think I'm gonna take him up on his offer to get us outa here but before I do it I'm gonna see if we can't find some better weapons and the rest of our friends. You told me you thought you heard Minsc, Dynaheir and Jaheira before, so they must be close by. I'm betting Khalid is around here somewhere too. He was with us when we were taken, if I remember right." The blonde shuddered suddenly and put her fingers to her temples. "Ohhh my head! It's so hard to concentrate!" The pair entered the room that Imoen had been to twice previously, the one with the weapons and the still attentive golem.

"Why don't you start a new journal?" Imoen suggested, biting her lip and saying nothing to Darkmoon's comment about Khalid. "Your old one is gone, but writing might help you get your head together." She handed her friend a thick pad full of blank pages.

"Thanks Immy." Darkmoon smiled, really smiled, for the first time in a long time as she took the book. "You're my abacus; I can always count on you." The blonde looked around the room. "Let's get re-supplied." She walked over and grabbed a worn set of splint mail from an open chest, sliding it down over her shoulders and fastening it securely at her hips. She also chose a strong looking leather sling, preferring to attack from a distance – or with the golems she was capable of summoning – rather than standing toe to toe with an enemy. The woman kept the short sword Imoen had presented her with earlier, securing it at her hip, but hoped as always that she wouldn't need to use it. Watching her young companion watching her, Darkmoon tossed a set of leather armor to the thief. "Put it on, there might be trouble."

"Darkling…" Imoen replied, looking at the leather suit she now held with concern. "I don't know, it's harder for me to cast my spells in armor, you know that." Hard, but not impossible. "It wouldn't be a bad idea to have a little more protection I guess. I just hate the idea of my magic fizzling when I need it, and in armor you can't ever be sure. "We might need a spell or two before we get outa here, don't you think?"

"We'll have to chance it, Immy." Darkmoon shook her head. "Just do your best when you cast, but put it on. I want you safe. Like I said, I think that guy Jasper out there is okay," The woman stuck her thumb in the direction of the other bard. "But I'm not in the mood to take chances. If there is trouble I want us to be as safe as possible cause we'd be fighting on the defensive this time. Besides, even if your magic poops out you still have your knife and the rest of us will be fighting like banshees!" She shook her head once more to clear it, hefted a backpack from the chest and began stuffing it full of anything movable. "And don't call me Darkling."

"The rest?" The pink haired thief reluctantly put on the armor.

"C'mon kid." Darkmoon told her, hefting the pack and swinging it over her shoulders once she was sure she could take the weight. "We're going to find our friends!"


	3. Pathways Chapter 2: Reunion And Loss

**Baldur's Gate: Pathways**

**CHAPTER TWO - Reunion And Loss  
**  
"…Which is the longer version of how I got free." Imoen was saying as the two women picked their way through the shadow's of their captor's laboratory. "I don't know much else. He's kept us here for weeks, at least, but I'm not sure exactly how many." The thief frowned. "I was able to fight him off, at first; mentally I mean…" She sighed. "The torture was bad enough, but when he started playing with my mind…" Now she shuddered. "So I fought him. He got through to me in the end though. He has so many tricks and ways to fool you when the direct approach doesn't work… We need to get out of here, Darkling. **Soon**!"

"I know, and we will. We just need to find the others and then we'll be off." Darkmoon thought of Jasper St. Baird. "With or without the help of our new friend, and don't call me Darkling."

What light there was in the dungeon was dim, and so they were almost on top of the vaguely circular cage before they realized it. It was quite a bit larger than the one that had been Darkmoon's home, allowing it's less injured and far more surly occupant to pace.

And pace she did, moving from one end of the cell to the other in slow, measured strides; rather like those of a caged wolf. That was fitting in a way for, if the feisty occupant took a mind to, she could with very little effort, become a wolf – among other things. As it was, the ability to shapechange wasn't going to do her much good, sofar as Darkmoon could see. It obviously hadn't, as she was still a prisoner.

"Ahhh Darkmoon." Jaheira called imperiously, proving that being treated like a captured animal had done nothing to improve her mood – or hinder it. "It is due time that you have shown up. I listened earlier as Imoen released you." The exotic golden haired druid nodded a greeting to the much younger pink haired girl. "I was beginning to worry that I would be forgotten in your hurry to leave this disgusting compound, though in my heart I knew that you could never be so cold as to turn your back on a valued companion. Quickly though, we must get out of here before whoever did this returns" The half elf laughed in a wry fashion, though the expression held little mirth. "I swear, traveling with you is never dull."

"Pity that." Darkmoon murmured. "I could **use** a bit of dullness about now, but I thank you for your faith in me." The golem trainer fumbled in the pocket of the stained rags she wore and produced the object she felt would be best suited to her current task. "I believe I have the key that will free you. Pray, shall we try it?"

"Do not tease, child." The druid answered sharply. "None of nature's creatures should be housed behind bars; and that most certainly includes me!" Jaheira stepped forward and when Darkmoon had placed the key in the lock and turned it, she pushed with all her strength – nearly braining the human woman. "Freedom!" She announced. "A balm for the soul."

"Balmy as ever." Darkmoon muttered under her breath while rubbing her head where the door had caught her. "And while I admire your enthusiasm for escape, next time let me get clear before you storm the breaches. Now, are you ready to go?"

"Certainly oh omnipresent authority figure." Jaheira sounded as apologetic for the meeting of metal and bone as she did about anything else – which was to say not at all. "Nature's servant awaits."

"Alright, come on. From the bellowing going on I'd say Minsc was close by." Darkmoon ordered, wishing as always that Jaheira could either be more of a people person or at least learn a little humility. She had reason to be proud, being the accomplished fighter and druidic spellcaster that she was, and in truth the blonde didn't mind the half-elf's attitude over much; but at times she could be grating. "Is Khalid with you? Have you seen him?" The question seemed to bring the Tethyran woman up short, and a veil of worry skimmed its way across her high cheekbones.

Imoen held her breath while a tear slid silently and unobserved down her cheek. She wished she'd never seen what she'd been forced to see, had never witnessed… She wondered if she should say something, tell the others what she alone knew to be fact. In the end the girl chose to hold her tongue, putting off the inevitable and the sure hurt it would cause Jaheira.

"No." The half-elf finally replied, the bravado in her voice now sounded throaty and forced and her emerald eyes misted. "And that worries me. We were housed together when we were first brought in, a gesture of residual humanity on the part of our captor perhaps." Jaheira swallowed hard. "But Khalid was taken from me several days ago, to where I do not know. I have the motivation, and now with your help, the means, to find him. Shall we go then?"

"Yes, definitely. And find him we shall." Darkmoon caught the fighter's resolve and approved.

"Yeah." Imoen, who had been quiet until that point said, softly. The young woman bit her tongue until she drew blood.

The three set off through the nearly pitch black dungeon laboratory and it didn't take long to locate a second cage. This one, similar in design to the cell that had until recently held Jaheira was visibly made of stronger stuff, and the lock on the door had been melted to slag. On the one hand, Darkmoon couldn't blame the man shape – No, Irenicus, She forced herself to remember his name – for what he had done. Sealing Minsc behind extra strong bars and melting the lock was an extremely good way – from **His** point of view – of ensuring survival.

For there was no doubt whatsoever in the bard's mind that if the cage was any less well built or the lock could have possibly been broken off, the huge Rasheman berserker would have freed himself and set to work doing his level best to feed the sorcerer his boots.

For her current objectives though, it was liable to make things difficult.

"**Bah! These bars will not hold my wrath**!" The huge bald fighter was bellowing as the trio approached his cage. "**Minsc and Boo will be free**!" As the women stepped out of the gloom they saw the big Rasheman native slam both his massive fists into the iron frame of the welded door. From the sickening sound of meat on metal as well, the visible scaring and the blood streaming from his torn hands; it was apparent that Minsc had been at it for awhile.

Unless of course, she decided to fight the strength of the bars with something equally powerful.

"Hey brainiac, over here!" Darkmoon called, making her tone as derisive as possible.

"Huh?" The big man stopped his efforts and looked over. An expression of confused delight appeared on his rugged yet normally kind face. "**DARKMOON**! And Jaheira and little Imoen too! Minsc has told Boo that our friends would free themselves and so you have! Boo was worried and doubtful for a time, but Minsc never let concern cloud the fine prism of his judgement!" The warrior looked down at his bloody hands. "Well, not really…"

"Uh huh." Darkmoon eyed the small hamster sitting happily on Minsc's shoulder. She looked from Imoen to Jaheira, winking at each in turn and silently signaling them to go along with the plan she was about to try out. She hoped they would follow her lead. "I'm glad to see you to big fella. Hey, can you send Boo over here so I can give him a kiss while Jaheira whips up a spell to get you out of there?"

"Minsc does not see why Darkmoon cannot wait until Minsc and Boo are both free to do any kissing." The berserker said reproachfully, then brightened as another thought occurred to him. "But as cute as Boo is, we cannot blame you for wanting a snuggle as soon as possible, seeing as how we've all been apart for so long." He knelt down and tenderly placed the small hamster on the ground where he could easily negotiate his way through the bars. Boo, having some understanding of what was expected of him eagerly went to Darkmoon in response to the woman's coaxing gestures. "You see, Boo missed you as well!

"Whatever." Darkmoon made her voice intentionally cold as she very gently picked the rodent up. She held Boo in her hand for a moment, looking down into the tiny clear eyes, wondering as always how much the animal really understood, and doing her best to convey kindness and lack of threat in her gaze. She knew what she had to do now and hoped Boo would understand. "I just wanted you to give me Boo, to be honest."

"Whatever do you mean?" Minsc answered, sounding suddenly concerned and bewildered - More bewildered than usual, anyway.

"We've been locked up here a long time, pal." The blonde woman cradled Boo as gently as she could, lifting the hamster and turning him this way and that as though looking to see how fat he was. "Fact is, none of us have had a lot to eat. Since you're welded in that cage and won't be joining us again I figured that it was a shame to let Boo go to waste with you." Darkmoon licked her lips and tried to ignore the way Minsc's eyes began to bulge out of their sockets! "I guess there's enough here for all of us?" She glanced at her companions. "Don't you think?"

"You are **NOT** serious!" Minsc exclaimed as his eyes continued to bulge at the sight of Boo being sized up.

"No?" She raised the rodent to her face and caressed his furry back with her nose, making it a point to inhale audibly. "Smells good." _And when we get out of this I'm definitely going to have Minsc give you a bath_!

"You **WILL NOT **do this!" The big man gripped the bars of his cage doors and shook them ineffectually.

"There's enough." Imoen piped up, seeing where Darkmoon was going with this. "Dibs on the legs!"

"**NO**!" Minsc roared, the veins on the sides of his neck standing up. "Young Imoen will **NOT** eat Boo's legs! Boo requires them for the kicking of evil butts! **MINSC WILL NOT ALLOW THIS TO HAPPEN**!"

"Do you have any fire spells left, Jaheira?" Imoen went on, trying not to giggle at the sickly stricken expression on Minsc's face. The man was turning an interesting shade of purple. "I'm out!"

"**WHAT DO YOU NEED FIRE SPELLS FOR**?" The berserker screamed. His arms seemed to be thickening now and the door of his cage, though sealed closed, trembled beneath his whitening knuckles.

"You do not expect us to eat him raw, do you?" Jaheira replied, taking care not to look the man in the eye. She turned instead to the petite thief. "Yes, I believe I have a fireball left in my arsenal. I would have preferred a slow cooked meal, but will make due with what we have."

"What's the best way to eat hamster?" Darkmoon added, sensing her plan was about to bear fruit. "Fried?"

"**I **_**DO NOT **_**EXPECT BOO TO BE EATEN IN ANY WAY**!" Minsc bellowed "**NOT FRIED**, **BROILED**, **BASTED**, **ROASTED** **or BARBEQUED**!!!"

"Grilled then?" Imoen asked, pleasantly.

"**NOT**! **GRILLED**! **EITHER**! **AAARRRAGGGHHHHHHHH**!!!!!!!!!!!" The bars of Minsc's cell bent and twisted like taffy in the hot sun as the giant Rashemanian burst free intent on violence and butt kicking of a previously unknown degree. "**BUTCHER OF HAMPSTERS! EATER OF FRIENDS! MINSC WILL NOT STAND BY AND ALLOW YOU TO SEND BOO TO THE LAND OF ACID INDIGESTION! YOU HAVE CONSUMED YOUR LAST RODENT, DEFILER OF HAMPSTERS! PREPARE FOR YOUR DOOM**!!!" The berserker lunged free of the cage and all three women jumped back a foot or so as he approached with murder on his mind! "**MINSC AND BOO ONCE CALLED YOU FRIENDS, WHEN ALL THE WHILE YOU WERE DOING NOTHING BUT SEEKING INGREDIANTS FOR AN EVIL FEAST**!" Minsc took another step forward, his huge fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically. "**NOW YOU WILL PAY! NOW YOU WILL SUFFER**! **Now you will**…**Noww**www………" Darkmoon had stepped back like her friends, but now stood her ground, looking resolutely up at the angry warrior, Boo held out, sitting quite happily in her open palm. Minsc's expression changed from enraged, to angry, to puzzled, to confused to – ultimately – accepting and once more – friendly. "Ooooo I understand now, why you said those horrible culinary things! I understand now, oh yes! You said what you did just to get me mad! Mad enough to break free!" The big man rushed forward yet again and grabbed Darkmoon up in a bear hug that literally took the woman's breath away. He swung her around in pleased comprehension then set her lightly back down on her feet. "You are as smart as Boo sometimes!" Minsc made a gesture and Boo happily jumped back onto the man's broad shoulder.

"Thanks…I think." Darkmoon answered, trying to decide whether that had been a compliment or not, while Imoen giggled to the right of her. She watched Boo nibbling at a piece of cracker the big warrior had given him. "Not that I'm complaining, but how did you manage to keep that…rodent of yours?"

"Hmmm." The Rashemanian dipped his chin far down, pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. "Some questions do not need to bare serious contemplation. Suffice it to say that Boo is quick, nimble and fleet of foot; whilst there is quite of lot of Minsc around which to hide." The berserker looked downright smug. "There is no hope of getting us apart."

"**Ewww**." Imoen scrunched up her face. "I _really_ don't want to think about that to much…"

Darkmoon said nothing, but the expression on her face showed that she was as…reluctant…as the younger thief to spend very much time dwelling upon the big fighter's answer.

Minsc saying nothing more, wore the smile of a Buddha.

"Alright then." The blonde dumped her backpack to the stone and metal grated floor and tore it open. "Before we find the others lets get ourselves outfitted. Grab what you need as far as weapons and armor and let's get busy. Khalid and Dynaheir are around here someplace I'm sure, and they might need our help. At the mention of his Witch's name, Minsc went chalk pale under his expansive tattoo. Imoen paled as well, but for better or for worse, nobody noticed. Darkmoon caught the expression on the berserker's face though, and questioned it, asking. "What?"

"Dynaheir." Minsc said the word as though it was it was and accusation and judging by the look on his face, for him it might well have been. He exploded with the words. "**SHE WILL BE AVENGED**!" Then, as if all power, pride and hope had left him in the power of his words, slumped to one knee, his weight braced on the huge battle axe he had taken from Darkmoon's backpack. The big man seemed to deflate, internally. His muscles were still there, the physical form, but the will that gave them power looked gone – used up. Even Boo looked sad, with drooping whiskers.

"Minsc, my dear friend -" Jaheira began but fell silent when the Rashemani warrior looked up at her. His expression not of anger but rather one of the agony of loss, a loss to great to endure but that cannot be avoided, perhaps not even in death itself.

"Minsc…" Darkmoon stammered and choked on her words as she to found herself at the receiving end of the big man's stricken gaze. For the blonde human though it wasn't the pain that Minsc was undoubtedly feeling that made the breath catch in her throat. It was the fact that in his eyes she saw the same expression she'd seen in the eyes of their captor, Irenicus…Once. It had been a fleeting expression in the Man Shape's eyes to be sure, and she was sure that he hadn't known she'd seen it – turned half away from her as he'd been. She had seen it though, and now seeing an expression, if even for an instant, so similar in her friend… She hated Irenicus for what he'd put her through, and feared him for many of the same reasons, now though she came as close as she ever would for feeling sorry for the sorcerer. The feeling passed quickly as she remembered that he was ultimately responsible for all of their current woes, but like the flicker of pain in his eyes, it had existed. "Is Dynaheir…?"

"He killed her." The berserker said, his voice soft and flat – hollow. "Killed her as I watched. Killed her by…" Minsc's voice trailed off and he squeezed his eyes together tightly as tears dripped to the cold stone floor. "Killed her in a way that was terrible to behold and that Minsc will not talk about." The man got to his feet with effort and shook his head like an angry bull. "**I WILL SEE HER AVENGED**!" He swung a massive fist and the broken bars of his cage bent inward still further. "**I WILL REDEEM MYSELF ON BEHALF OF MY WITCH**!!" 

"Minsc…" Imoen tried to find the words.

"No little Imoen." The fighter told her, calming himself and reaching up to gently stroke Boo between the hamster's tiny ears. "I won't cry for the dead! Well, Ok, maybe a little. But I shall wash the tears and stain of my soul away with the blood of her murderer. Where ever you hide, evil one, the might of Minsc and Boo will find you, and when we do…" The tattooed man was winding up again, and brought himself back under control only with visible difficulty. "When we do, you will…die. Badly."

"Okay then." Darkmoon stated to her group, once she was sure that Minsc was able to continue. "Let's get going. Imoen and I have maybe found ourselves an express way out of this…place. I think he's okay, but be on your guard and ready for anything, just in case."

"He?" Jaheira questioned.

"It's a long story, but I suspect he can help us. He might know where Khalid is, or at least be able to get us somewhere close." Darkmoon spoke with steel resolve.

Imoen looked sick.

"Very well then." The athletic druid woman replied. "Lead on then. I am anxious to find Khalid and leave this affront to nature."

The group walked back to the middle of the room, finding St. Baird sitting where they left him. On their arrival he climbed to his feet quickly, belaying the idea that just because he was plump he was helpless.

"I think we're ready to go now, Jasper." Darkmoon spoke for her group. "But maybe not to the exit. There is still one member of our group unaccounted for, a fighter called Khalid. Have you by chance seen him in your travels through this place?"

"I…" St. Baird looked doubtful, his eyes scanning over each of them in turn. When he got to Imoen he paused, and for a moment – only a moment - when their eyes met, he allowed the bleakness he felt to ease through. Seeing her own emotions mirrored, the young thief gasped, understanding what the bard had shared with her then and knowing what he knew. "I'm afraid I have not spoken to anyone of that name." Imoen smiled grimly. That was true enough, to be sure. "Nor have I seen many fighters, outside of the ones who stormed this place and allowed my Mistress to dispatch me here to begin with." The bordering on portly man paused, thinking. "There is a tough looking fighter-type gentleman calling himself Yoshimo on the second floor of this dungeon, and I think he is looking for a way out as well. Want me to take you to him? Perhaps he knows the whereabouts of this Khalid person."

"Greater numbers can often mean greater safety." Jaheira remarked prudently. "In any case, he might well have encountered Khalid, or be of some help in finding him. This sounds like a good plan, meeting this Yoshimo person."

"Adding more 'fighter-types' to this group can only be a good thing." Minsc voiced his own opinion. "So long as they are also the same Hero-types as Minsc and Boo and thirst for the butt kicking of the unrighteous!"

"Well," Darkmoon finally said, after waiting for a word from Imoen; who was strangely quiet and subdued. "I guess it won't hurt to see what Yoshimo has to say. We'll see what he wants."

"Excellent!" St. Baird gushed all over her, and Darkmoon found that his silky slightly tipsy voice reminded her of a used magic carpet salesman she'd encountered once as a little girl in Candlekeep. "Off we go then. I'm sure Yoshimo will be sooooooo happy to see you." The pudgy bard quickly began doing strange things with his hands, and Darkmoon watched as familiar bubbles of transporting magic enveloped the lot of them.

For a moment, as the grey of the dungeon laboratory faded to colorful nothingness, she panicked! If Jasper St. Baird had anything underhanded up his sleeve now, while her entire group was helpless and in transit, would be a perfect place to attack. She tried to tense her muscles, to grip the hilt of her short sword and ready it for battle; but as always when using magical transport, found herself paralysed. The disorientation came then, as her body and awareness went from one place to another in less than five seconds. '_Hells but I hate teleporting_!' She had time to think. Then the magical field faded, the disorientation faded and sanity in her surroundings returned. She was in a much smaller room that was mostly empty except for some dilapidated boxes and a strange glowing portal on a golden stand. Darkmoon figured it was some sort of transportation device and privately wondered if she was the only person in Faerun (assuming of course that they were still in Faerun) who'd ever heard of stairways. Something else drew her attention then, something more important to her then her surroundings.

A man stood in front of her.

Part of her cringed, thinking it was the man shape, the hated one, Irenicus…But…no…

Shorter than average and lean but with firm muscles, Asiatic, hair tied back in long bands and a thin moustache spraying almost delicately from his upper lip, this man was far from the imposing figure of the one who, until recently, had been her captor.

"Ahi." The short man said, a delightful twinkle in his brown eyes, as he stepped forward and offered his hand.

He didn't get within arms reach however, as instantly Jaheira imposed herself between them.

The druid half-elf's eyes were narrowed in suspicion and her nostrils flared as she took the measure of this man. She, possibly alone among her companions, could tell from the mere sight of him that he was Kara-Turan, a group that she'd had some dealings with over the years. Mostly dangerous, treacherous and altogether unpleasant dealings at that. In her heart she knew that all Kara-Turan's were not the self serving wretches that she'd encountered in her travels, but at the same time, hard past experience had instilled in her the strong desire to be vigilant among them. Jaheira recognized the type of armor this man wore. He was a man hunter, a tracker…a bounty hunter for lack of a better word. Of the Kara-Turan that she had known, man hunters were the most unscrupulous; which was saying something. There were exceptions to that rule, Nagashiro for example, an old friend of Khalid's… But she wouldn't think of Khalid, not again until she found him safe and well. The worry for the other option was far too great. Better to spend her time dealing with the – person – here in front of them.

"So." The short man said, cocking an eyebrow at Jaheira and looking pointedly around her to Darkmoon. "I see that there is sanity," He paused and now looked directly at the druid. "Some sanity," He continued, looking past her again. "In this madness after all." The man looked as though he was contemplating going around the aggressively standing protector of nature, then saw Minsc and decided against it. "If you are not in league with the evil that inhabits this place, Yoshimo begs your assistance." Now he did brush past Jaheira, moving fluidly, like water through a sieve, to Darkmoon as the druid spun to watch – seething.

"Who are you to ask for anything, man hunter?" Jaheira spoke to the stranger's back. "Many forms of evil inhabit this place, and you may well be "in league" with them yourself, for what we know."

"Indeed I might." Yoshimo returned the coldness in her tone, glancing at her over his shoulder, then returned his gaze to Darkmoon and continued with a voice that was more warm. "But I am not. I am Yoshimo, surely you have heard of the great Yoshimo?"

"**AHHHH BUT YES**!" Minsc roared out in good natured understanding. "I have heard. **Indeed** I have, as has Boo and don't his whiskers twitch with happiness upon finding himself near the man behind the legend!" The big warrior turned to Darkmoon to explain as Yoshimo smiled. "Back in Rasheman when Minsc was but a little boy…" he paused, looking down at himself. "Well, a boy in any case, there was the most famous of plumbers! The traveller known as Yoshimo!" The grin that the Kara-Turan wore seemed to fly from his face to Jaheira's. "His knowledge was second to none and it was said that he could unblock a sink or toilet faster than any other service man in Faerun! He never needed to be called. It was said, whispered, among those with inside plumbing, that when a blockage or spill occurred he would just appear, riding on his donkey…" Now Yoshimo looked scandalized. "…riding to the source of the problem. Many claimed he could smell waste and that sewage ran in his blood." Minsc considered his words while a dark look appeared in Yoshimo's eyes and Jaheira turned away, coughing into her hand. "A love for clearing sewage I mean." The huge warrior turned to the smaller man, his hand extended in friendship. "You possibly do not remember, as Minsc was but a young lad at the time, but my family had you over and the magic you did with our toilet made Minsc feel proud! He thought of you for months ever time he would go in for a sh-"

"**Surely** this is a man of _**integrity**_ then!" Jaheira cut the tattooed berserker off mid-sentence. "Why I had no idea we had a man of such…_**character**_…in our midst. "But then, I could hardly expect anything less from a Kara-Turani. I have changed my mind and will apologize for my earlier tone." The druid's voice was sickly sweet. "We should welcome him into our party with open arms, for one can never tell when nature will fail and need a helping hand cleaning out its burrows."

Yoshimo's shoulders had tightened during Jaheira's tirade, his eyes never leaving Darkmoon's, and she could see a smouldering anger there. His smile seemed tight, as though painted on and his breathing was slow and heavy. "I thank you for that…interesting…history; large one." The smaller man's words were clipped. "But I regret that I am not, in fact, your mythical, ahh, plumber." Now Yoshimo focused all of his attention back on Darkmoon and the smile became less strained. "I am, in fact as your druid surmised, a bounty hunter. I…was…in the employment of the group that raided these chambers. They, and I, I suppose, were looking for a wizard of some power named Irenicus. We had breached the defences here, alas only to find that he had fled. I became separated from my group when most of them pulled out – this was after many were killed by traps we could not have foreseen – and I was contemplating on finding my way to the exit of this maze when you appeared." He looked over at an again lounging Jasper St. Baird. "And there it is then. Tell me though, on considering my tale and seeing as how you look as though you are trying to escape as well, shall we seek our way out of this bastion of evil together?" 

Imoen hadn't said a word, not all through the exchange. Now she was looking at a door behind Yoshimo with liquid eyes. Often being the youngest among her friends got her ignored, and often she hated it. Now though she was pleased to be effectively invisible.

"It is always good to have another sword." Darkmoon said after she and Jaheira exchanged glares. "Welcome Yoshimo."

"_We shall speak later I think, Darkmoon_." Jaheira spoke to her in a harsh whisper as the bounty hunter turned toward the door that was giving Imoen such quiet fits. "_In private_."

"_I thought we might, my friend_." The golem trainer whispered back. "_But that will be for later. For now though just trust me and follow my lead_." Darkmoon cleared her throat, speaking in a normal tone now and addressing Yoshimo. "What do we have waiting for us from here do you know? We are looking for a friend and partner. A warrior named Khalid..."

"I have not heard the name before." The slim, muscled bounty hunter replied. "But I do know that in the room after this there are groups of creatures that bar my path. Perhaps together we can defeat them and proceed."

"**WAIT**!" Imoen cried out, finally finding her voice…then losing it again as everyone else in the room froze and turned to stare at her. "I…I mean, lets just think this through logically." The thief struggled to find words. "The people who raided this place did a pretty good job of smashing everything up and setting people free." She spread her arms as testament to her words. "I haven't seen Khalid, This guy, Yoshimo hasn't seen him." She paused and coughed. "Even old Jasper over there hasn't seen him. Don't you think it makes more sense that Khalid would have been released the way I was and spent his time fighting his way to the exit looking for us?" Her logic was paper thin and she knew it, but she could see the others buying in to her idea; even Jaheira.

"It is possible." Darkmoon said, thinking outloud.

"Khalid would do all in his power to fight his way back to me." Jaheira allowed. "And if he was freed, either by our 'rescuers' or by their unintentional violence, it follows that he would believe the rest of us were. With hesitation I feel that it would perhaps be more logical for us to proceed to find a way out of this place. If he is not already outside, we can always come back."

"Alright then." Darkmoon decided after it was clear that neither Minsc nor Yoshimo had any serious opinions. "We'll get to the exit, look around outside and if he's not there then come back and turn this place upside down." The group, now five strong, turned as one to Jasper. "It's time now I think. Can you get us out of here now?"

"Of course." The bard said as jovially as ever. "Will do. To the exit it is! Otek, Elesky, Wonra! Abra, Kadraba, Sesame... oh, hell, let's just skip all that spellcasting gibberish, since we all know it doesn't really DO anything but waste time." He laughed and began doing the strange things with his hands again. "Everyone nice and cozy? It's right on to the end from here, folks, keep your arms, legs, swords, bows, and godlike-powers firmly in check, and enjoy the ride." For the second time that day the magic teleporting bubbles engulfed the group, though the disorientation wasn't as bad that time around. Everything faded then the world came back a few seconds later and they were somewhere else again.

"Annggaahhh." Darkmoon groaned under her breath. "Never again. I _**SWEAR**_, never again."

"Well, here we are." Jasper said pleasantly. They stood in a narrow hall that seemed to go on for a mile or more and sloped upwards all the way. "Here, as I promised, are all of the items you would have picked up on your way, along with the gold you would have gotten for slaying all the goblins and toting every piece of crap down here out." He paused and all of the sudden there was a tremendous racket as Imoen disappeared under a mountain of junk. Everyone else felt suddenly heavier and they all realized that the amount of junk to have been found throughout the dungeon laboratory must have been formidable indeed. "By the way," The bard said, as if it was an afterthought. "Some dryad chicks would be very appreciative if you'd take their acorns to the Windspear Hills so they can quit being Irenicus' harem. Feel like accepting?"

"Sure." Darkmoon replied, going over with the others to start unburying a gently moaning Imoen.

"That's a lot of stuff." Jasper remarked. "Make sure you didn't drop any of it. Irenicus kept an awful lot of crap lying around for the taking. Nothing worse than a sloppy villain." He chuckled at his own wit. "Alright, then, that's all for me. Mistress Blue sends her regards, and good luck, because you'll likely need it. Anyway, I have a baalor to kill by three, and by five I need to attend to a certain demigoddess's massage. I should be a god by next week, though - I hear I'll probably see you there sometime! Remember: Love bards." He flicked up the brim of his hat. "Ciao!" And then he was gone, leaving the group once more to the fickle hand of fate.

"Jaheira." Imoen said from her prone position on the ground. "I've…well, not lied exactly, but… I haven't told you the truth and it's…it's killing me." The thief swallowed hard. "I… I…."

"What are you babbling about child?" The druid replied, not unkindly, while lifting a case of healing potions off the younger girl's chest.

"I'm afraid I have some very bad news for you." Imoen answered, and then burst into tears.


	4. Pathways Chapter 3: Journal Entry 1

**Baldur's Gate: Pathways**

**CHAPTER THREE -****From The Journal Of Darkmoon: 1****  
**  
_**Journal Entry #1**_**  
**  
_**From The Journal Of Darkmoon – Daughter Of Candlekeep**_  
_  
I am taking a moment now, as we sit here and recover, to formally begin this new journal. I don't know how much good it will do but if it helps to keep my head together, even a little, well then it's worth it. Imoen suggested I begin this, a new journal, but then, Imoen has always sworn by the benefits of getting her thoughts down on paper and is more of a scribe than I am._

Imoen…

Imoen is gone.

I thought for awhile that things would be better, once we got out of that cursed hole in the ground leading down to the laboratory where we'd been held. The servant of that mysterious Mistress Blue, Jasper St. Baird, really came through. I admit, freely, that I was wary of him at first; but recent events have, I think, made me wary of most everyone…except for my closest companions.

I…we, really; have endured so much pain and loss since the final battle with my blood kin Sarevok, I had thought the Gods would show favor upon us, that we would be allowed rest for awhile. Now though…

_Now…_

_Dynaheir and Khalid are dead. It was a bad scene that, learning about Khalid's death especially. As I understand it now, Imoen knew, knew before she'd ever released me from my cage. Apparently our captor killed Khalid in front of her, then proceeded to do………things. _

_- I do not think I will be any more expressive than that, other than to say that they were horrible… - ……to his corpse after he was dead. Imoen held off on saying anything as she didn't want to hurt Jaheira. I understand the concept but I wonder if she could have truly thought that it would not come out eventually. No, of course not. Imoen was many things but she was not stupid._

I can hardly see my words, my eyes are clogged with tears that feel I dare not let fall. I am speaking, already, of Imoen; as though she too were already dead - but I simply do not believe that to be the case. I am getting ahead of myself though, so let me back up and get my thoughts in order.  


_As I said, Imoen knew that Khalid was dead and said nothing, in hopes of sparring Jaheira. She of course knew it was hopeless and in the end she was simply too good of a person to prolong the agony. She told Jaheira, all of us, the horrible truth shortly after Jasper St. Baird transported us to the exit of our underground prison. The news didn't go over well, in fact Jaheira refused to believe it until Immy cast a Wizard's Eye spell and showed her the unhappy truth._

After that Jaheira naturally went mad for a time. I don't think she blamed Imoen for keeping the news from her, not seriously; anymore than she blamed Minsc for his lame attempts at kind words. I feel she blames _**me**__. I don't know whether this is right, but it is the way I feel. I can't fault her for that as I blame myself as well. I was the one who formed the group and ultimately I was the one who was responsible for them. Perhaps, in reality, Jaheira does not blame me. I don't know. What I do know is that it will take both of us a very long time to get over the loss of her husband._

Dynaheir's death preys hard on my conscience as well, and the affect it will have on Minsc to have lost his witch. It's funny, Dynaheir and I got off to a pretty rocky start at first. I can remember telling her to pack her things and get the hells out of my group, Minsc or no Minsc… But then, after the battle we had by that old lighthouse… Well, I can safely say that the witch and I became close. I won't compare my feelings of loss over her to those that Minsc must be going through, but it still hurts terribly. Not only that but, as with Khalid, I cannot shake the fact that her death is on my shoulders, her blood on my hands; though she was physically killed by another.

Where was I? How did we get here? Oh yes, Jasper St. Baird… My mind is wandering.

Like I said, I didn't trust St. Baird but he came through in flying colors. He got us to the exit and without him it would undoubtedly taken…perhaps as much as a day or two. He also gave us a lot of stuff, payment in arrears, as he explained it, from this wizard, Irenicus, who'd captured us in the first place. So, to get back to my original thought when I began this entry; when we neared the exit to that dungeon, I was feeling rather hopeful despite our losses. I felt like crap, hurting everyplace, physically and mentally; but figured a healer could take care of the first one while time and mourning would make the second more bearable. My original plan was for us to stand down for awhile. Sarevok is dead and while I knew the others wanted to find Irenicus and hang him out to dry; My own feelings were rather… different.

The unlovely truth of the matter is this: Originally, I didn't want to have anything more to do with Irenicus, not right away, at any rate. I was… I _**AM**__… terrified of him, a feeling that I am not accustomed to. I'm not saying that given some time I might not have tried to look him up and settle this blood debt that I feel he owes me…but not for awhile. I wanted time, time to heal my body and mind if not my soul. I feel ashamed and dirty for my terror of him but I won't deny my outlook – Trusting my feelings has kept me alive for far to long to begin second guessing things now._

So yes, I would – _**probably**__ – made some effort to track that bastard down, but it would have been some time down the road._

'Down the road', Unfortunately, is no longer an option.

We thought we were safe, getting out of that madman's hideaway, but we stepped out of the exit into one of the hells! A full blown war was going on, with us appearing just about dead center! There he was, mask, robes and all, staring down a half dozen or so mages. I don't know if these sorcerers were part of the group that raided his place or they just happened to get into it with him when he appeared in this city of theirs, I don't even know to much of what the fight was about, but it was going good and strong when we popped up.

Battle? More like a slaughter if you ask me! There were six or seven of them to start with, and not only did this Irenicus take them all on, he won! He is easily the most powerful wizard I've ever encountered, and from the screams coming from that other bunch, he was something unexpected to them too. You just _**don't**__ jump into battle against six strong sorcerers and think that you're going to walk out – not in a fight to the death you don't!_

_**Yet he did**__!_

He killed them all, almost without breaking a sweat. There was silence for a few seconds after that, until he noticed us…me…standing there. Words were exchanged and I figured that we were about to have to try to do what the dead wizards could not, by that I mean, take him out. Problem was, I was still so frightened of him I was shaking. Just the sight of him… I'm ashamed even now to admit this, but I was almost petrified with fear. I don't know what he did to me in that hole we'd escaped from, not all of it. Some of it I must be blacking out for there are still large gaps in my memory; but it must have been worse what I can remember. Scary thought that, because what I _**can**__ remember is pretty grim indeed._

So I'm standing there, shaking like a leaf inside my armor and doing all I can not to collapse, when Imoen, of all people, calls him out. Words were flung, followed by magic, and to no one's surprise, Immy came up the worse for wear. I have a pretty good idea what would have happened then, except that more of the other sorcerers showed up about then. I thought there was going to be a hell of a battle and was glad to have help; then something strange happened.

Irenicus gave up. 

_Oh, he didn't exactly throw down his wands, but he surrendered. Unfortunately, he pointed out that Immy had been tossing magic around too, that being some sort of crime here if you can believe it, and somehow convinced the wizards to arrest her along with him. Before Jaheira could put up any protections they had taken my friend and my enemy both._

My path seems clear. I still don't want to have anything to do with the wizard, if I can avoid it; but I have to get Imoen back! If that means I have to take on Irenicus, or these other wizards, then so be it. From what I've seen, Immy is worth more than the lot of them put together. Jaheira tells me that we are in the city of Athkatla, referred to by the locals as The City Of Coin. I am content to take her word for it, I can tell by the smell of the air and sight of the architecture that we are some great distance from Candlekeep or Baulder's Gate, which would follow as by my reckoning Athkatla is much further up the coast.

I don't know that I like it here. If these wizards represent what passes for law then I must tread softly indeed. All I can promise is that I will go through all of them if need be to have Imoen back by my side!


End file.
